<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Change of Plans by becki</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912926">Change of Plans</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/becki/pseuds/becki'>becki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor whump, Crying, Family, Father and Son, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Tears, Trauma, Whump, sorry i just like making our android boy suffer sometimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:49:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/becki/pseuds/becki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe his breakfast isn’t a gourmet meal, and maybe it’s way too early for his liking, but at least it’s somewhat peaceful in his house. Sure, there’s the roaring blizzard outside, and the occasional groan of his house as the framework shudders under the wind’s force. But still, it’s calm inside. Normally Connor would be bright and chipper even at this early hour, blabbering about something or another and-</p><p>Wait.</p><p>Connor.</p><p>Hank straightens up in his seat, suddenly wide awake. </p><p>Connor isn’t anywhere in sight. </p><p>—</p><p>A one shot in which Hank wakes up early one morning to a blizzard raging on outside and a quiet home devoid of his partner.</p><p>That is, until he finds the bathroom with the door shut tight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hank Anderson &amp; Connor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>435</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Change of Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I had a lot of free time this weekend, so I wrote another quick one shot about our boys! Honestly, I don’t know when I’ll stop writing about them; I just have sooo many ideas :D</p><p>And of course I had to make this one pretty whumpy :) i love connor, but there’s something about putting him in hurtful situations that’s fun to write about...</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The plan was to sleep in late this morning and spend all day doing absolutely nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s his day off from work, after all. And even though Connor often says that being up bright and early is the perfect way to start a productive day, he always gives Hank a break from this on their off days. Meaning, he lets Hank sleep in as long as he wants (even if it’s way past noon), and then they spend the rest of the day watching movies and chilling on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was the plan for today.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was</span>
  </em>
  <span> the plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Hank opens his tired eyes to sheer brightness streaming through his bedroom window, and one stolen glance at his clock says that it’s way too early - 8 a.m., to be more specific. Hank groans and covers his eyes with his pillow, trying to block out the obnoxious bright light that pours into his room. Unfortunately, the light seeps through the pillow’s thin fabric, rendering it useless. And after a whole twenty minutes of trying to fall back asleep, he realizes it’s a lost cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling, he peels back the warm covers and stumbles out of bed. He looks to his bedroom window first with squinting eyes, cursing the fact that he didn’t close the blinds last night before going to bed because for the first time since the android revolution, a growing blizzard howls on outside. The heaps of snow that dump in bucketfuls from the sky create a blinding brightness that lights up his room as they fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard reports of snow on the news last night, but not a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>blizzard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But the whistling wind that shakes his house says otherwise, and as he approaches closer to the window and looks at the white wasteland outside, he guesses that there must be a solid sixteen inches out there even though it’s only 8 in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank also curses the fact that today’s his day off. If only his off day was yesterday - that way, he would’ve gotten off yesterday </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>today given the heavy snowfall.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs waver side to side as he trudges to the kitchen, the only thing on his mind being coffee and breakfast. He starts the old coffee machine and starts making toast, all the while listening to the wind rage on outside mixed with the sputtering and gurgling of his coffee machine as it brews his morning mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His toast is ready soon enough, and right on time, so is the coffee. He places the somewhat burnt toast on a plate and lathers on melting butter. He then leaves it on the table as he pours himself his mug of coffee, the hot steam swirling around him as it streams into the mug. He then grabs his coffee, topples into his seat at the table, and starts his hastily-made breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe his breakfast isn’t a gourmet meal, and maybe it’s way too early for his liking, but at least it’s somewhat peaceful in his house. Sure, there’s the roaring blizzard outside, and the occasional groan of his house as the framework shudders under the wind’s force. But still, it’s calm inside. Normally Connor would be bright and chipper even at this early hour, blabbering about something or another and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Connor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank straightens up in his seat, suddenly wide awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere </span>
  </em>
  <span>in sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first thought is maybe that he took Sumo out or something, but the old dog is currently slurping water from his bowl. His eyes then dart to the living room couch where Connor does his little standby mode sleeping thing, but there’s no sign of him there either. And everywhere Hank looks, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank jumps up in his seat, coffee and toast forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Con?” he calls out, walking around the house with hurried steps. Panic is rising in his voice, and he tries to settle it, but to no avail. “Connor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when his eyes catch sight of the bathroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank didn’t notice the door at first when he first walked out of his room, but he sure notices it now. It’s closed shut. However, they both </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>shut it - when it’s not in use, they leave the door open. Yet, here it is, shut tight, and Hank knows that Connor only uses the bathroom to fix his hair for work or for going out. Certainly not something that needs to be done on a day like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffles up to it. And instead of immediately opening the door because who </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>what Connor’s doing in there, he brings an ear up to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ping.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank immediately recognizes that sound, regardless of how faint it is through the wooden door. It’s the noise Connor’s coin makes whenever he passes it through his fingers, which is quite often. He mentioned before to Hank that it had something to do with his calibration before an investigation.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would he be calibrating in the bathroom?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank knows maybe it’d be more respectful to knock, but worry is starting to creep up on him. And before he can stop himself, he’s opening the bathroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he notices is the bright LED in the far left corner. It’s a dangerously crimson ring, flashing without break in the otherwise completely dark room. However, streams of light from the rest of the house pour through the doorway, giving Hank some bits of light to see through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there Connor sits, curled up in the left corner of the bathtub with his arms wrapped around his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps in shock as Hank enters the room, and the passing coin jars out of his fingers. It clings to the tile floor before rolling to Hank standing in the doorway, where he uses his foot to stop it and pick it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Connor, what the fuck?” Hank says as he then flicks on the light to see better. He blinks, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness in the once pitch black bathroom. “What’s going on in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-nothing,” Connor says quickly as he turns his head down and away from Hank, concealing his expression. But Hank can still see the LED from this angle. It doesn’t break from red - instead, it just keeps pounding, faster and faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank approaches carefully and places the quarter on the bathtub's rim. He then crouches down beside Connor sitting in the tub. He doesn’t even meet Hank’s gaze - he looks down and away to the shower wall, arms wrapped back around his drawn-up legs and body shuddering ever so slightly. Hank can almost hear his thirium pump as it hammers in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks...terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Con,” Hank says softly. And when Connor doesn’t answer, Hank puts a tender hand on his shoulder. “Connor, look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Connor turns to look at Hank. The first thing he notices is his mocha eyes, swollen and red-rimmed. Dried tear tracks stream down both cheeks, creating pudgy stains on his usually cool and collected face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank eyes widen at first, taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help the shock that pours into his reaction - he’s never seen Connor cry. Ever. He didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>if he could cry, the damn android. So to see tear tracks down his face, eyes puffy and red-rimmed...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Con, were you...were you crying?” Hank asks, words soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no,” Connor spits out helplessly. “I don’t...I can’t cry. I wasn’t, Hank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank sighs. He squeezes Connor's shoulder gently, all the while staring into his wide, fearful eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid, what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor shakes his head. “Nothing, Hank. I’m okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Connor…” Hank says, giving him an incredulous look that says </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t buy your bullshit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Seriously. You can talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor looks away then and stares with hollow eyes towards the other end of the tub. And finally, with a shuddering breath that he doesn’t require, he opens his mouth to speak. His words are meak, and they shake like a half-built wall in a raging earthquake, but they pour out nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I don’t like blizzards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank furrows his eyebrows in question. Out of all the things that could be stressing Connor out right now...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blizzards?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s irrational, I know,” Connor quickly says when Hank fails to respond. He sheepishly darts his eyes up to meet with Hank’s for a split second before placing them back towards the tub. “And it’s stupid. I just-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, it’s not stupid,” Hank says with a light wave of his hand. Connor brings his gaze back up, and they lock there, not jumping away this time. Hank continues, “Why do they bother you? Is it the noise or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes, but it’s just…it’s also...” He pauses, and his next words pass through his lips in a sudden rush. “They remind me of a place I don’t like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A place you don’t like? Like...Cyberlife tower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kamski’s?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank plays the idea in his mind for a little, letting it roll around as he considers all the possible places that could possibly stress Connor out. But no more come to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then...Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor takes another unsteady breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mind palace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank quirks a brow. “Your mind…what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a programmed place in my head. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>real, </span>
  </em>
  <span>technically. It’s just where my handler met with me, back before I deviated,” Connor begins. “And the place was normally peaceful, but as I started showing emotions, that’s when it became colder, and windier, and...and by the time I was deviant, it was frozen over and a wasteland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor pauses for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-and I thought I escaped it </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>my handler by then, by the time I was deviant, but when I was on the stage with Markus during the revolution, they...they hacked me. I was back there in my mind palace, and it was so cold, and windy, and there was s-snow everywhere, and I almost couldn’t find the exit to escape because of the storm, and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears begin to well in Connor’s eyes, and his lips start to tremble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And I was so scared, Hank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when the dam breaks. Those wavering tears begin to rush down his face with each sob, loud and painful and echoing off the bathroom walls. His body shudders each time he tries to suppress the cries; but, it’s pointless. They’ve overtaken him by now, and all Hank can do is watch him with worry swimming in his gentle eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry,” Connor sputters out between gasps of air. “I just-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words are cut short as Hank envelops him in a hug. Connor gasps a little in shock, muscles tight and rigid at the sudden embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize,” Hank says quietly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor then wraps his shaking arms around Hank and melts into the hug. His fingers bunch Hank’s shirt material into tight fistfuls as he sobs into his chest, the cries somewhat muffled now but still ringing throughout the bathroom. It’s a terrible sound, one Hank has never heard of until now and didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he could make. Hank’s heart wrenches with sadness as he listens silently to the sobs, holding onto his friend in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank starts to rub circles onto Connor’s shuddering back while whispering soothing nonsense in his ears. With that, he starts to relax a bit, the cries subsiding somewhat and becoming quieter and less frequent. And before long, all that fills the bathroom is Connor’s shaky breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more minutes, Connor draws back. A tinge of blue blush colors his cheeks as he dries his eyes, all the while looking away in every direction that doesn’t meet Hank’s gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Hank asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m okay,” he answers with a nod. He then brings his eyes up to lock with Hank’s and continues, “You don’t have to stay in here with me, Hank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, why don’t you join me in the living room?” Hank offers. “We can just watch a movie or show or some shit. I’ll be right there with you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The bathroom’s the only place that doesn’t shake as much from the wind. When I first woke up from standby, I realized that every room caused my stress levels to rise because they shook so much and I could easily see the blizzard outside. The bathroom was the only place I found that lowered my stress levels somewhat if I turned off the lights and shut those blinds,” he finishes, gesturing to the window and blinds on the shower wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank hums thoughtfully and then gets up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then wait here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he walks out the bathroom, shutting the door gently and turning off the light behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If Connor feels safest in there, so be it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But that doesn't mean he has to be alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He first heads to the living room and grabs two pillows and the softest blanket he can find. He knows Connor loves soft things - soft hoodies, soft sweatpants, soft socks, and Sumo’s soft fur - so he knows he’ll appreciate this type of blanket the most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then reheats his cold coffee in the microwave while he takes a package of thirium from the fridge (they always have a stock of them on hand) and pours that into a different mug. He knows Connor can’t drink coffee, hot chocolate, or any other comfort drink, but at least he can have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>type of drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last, he goes to his bookcase. His eyes dance over all the titles before one of his favorites catches his eye. He grabs it, and then along with the blanket, pillows, and mugs, he heaves everything to the bathroom and opens the door with a light shove of his foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor looks up at the sound of Hank entering the dark bathroom. His eyes narrow slightly as they watch Hank struggle to haul in all these items.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank, what’re you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank first drops the blanket and pillows on the floor and rests the book on the sink. Then, he places the mug of thirium on the bathtub rim on Connor’s end and his own coffee mug on the other end’s rim. From there, he lightly tosses one pillow to Connor and puts the other pillow propped up on the other end of the tub. He grabs the blanket off the floor and drapes it over Connor, and finally, taking the book from the sink, Hank gets under the warm blanket on the other end of the tub and settles against the pillow he propped up there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured you don’t have to suffer alone in here,” Hank says. He watches as Connor tugs on the soft blanket to pull it up to his midsection, all the while rubbing his fingers against the soft surface. Hank continues, “We can chill in here for a bit until the blizzard passes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I checked the weather reports earlier,” Connor says as he takes the mug off the bathtub rim and cups it in his hands, peering at the substance inside. “It’s not going to pass until later this evening.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor glances back up from the mug, his eyes softened. “Listen, Hank. You don’t have to do all this for me. I’m okay. Go enjoy your day off in the living room or something. I’m fine alone. It’ll get boring in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank holds up the book. “And that’s why I brought a book. I can read to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll take, like, twenty minutes to read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank quirks an eyebrow and steals a quick glance at the book. “Twenty minutes? For this whole thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank, I can read very fast,” Connor says matter-of-factly. “All I have to do is flip through the pages, and I can scan it all and take in the informa-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, we’re not reading this with your robot scanning shit,” Hank says, stifling a laugh. Connor looks perplexed at that, so he continues, “We’re going to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>read </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Let the story play in your mind while you let the words tell the story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Play...in your mind?” Connor asks. He cocks his head to the side. “How do you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank can’t help the light chuckles at this point. “Connor, have you never read a book before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve read articles and taken in their information, but there’s no story I’ve ever read to ‘play in your mind,’ so to speak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’ve never read a story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another shake of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank huffs out a laugh. “Okay, well, looks like this’ll be your first time then. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>read it, and you can just sit back and envision the story, okay? It’ll keep you mind off things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Connor says, nodding slowly. He takes a sip of thirium before speaking again. “...Hank, how do I envision it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...lean back, close your eyes, and let your mind wander and use whatever I read to create the story in your mind,” Hank says. “The crazy thing is, whatever you see in your mind may be a little different than mine. Of course, we’ll be seeing the same story, but we’ll each have our own little versions of how the characters really look and the settings they’re in. It’s kinda crazy. But it’s pretty relaxing, to just be able to sit back and see the story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor nods. He then settles the mug on the bathtub rim, leans back against the pillow he propped against the wall, and pulls the blanket upwards to fully cover him as his eyes finally close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank watches him for a moment, and a small smile creeps onto his face. Connor looks so small, so safe in his blanket, clinging onto it as if his whole life depended on it. The leftover tear tracks stain his cheeks, but they’ve definitely dried by now at least. And for the first time this morning, his LED finally switches away from a scarlet red. Now, it’s a flickering circle of yellow and blue as if it can’t decide which color to balance on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank knows that Connor can kill a person in seconds flat. He’s also one of the best detectives he’s ever known, doing well with handling himself under the trauma of work and unsettling situations that come with it such as dead bodies and other gore. He puts on a mask of unfeeling, of coldness, of hidden expressions. And if someone were to never really get to know him and only read him at surface level, they’d see nothing about him besides a cold, ruthless machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hank knows him. He’s learned more about him in the span of a couple months they’ve spent living together than he ever thought he’d come to know when he first met him. He’s just as scared and human as every other person on this earth, and while maybe he’s not as quick to show his feelings, they’re certainly there, hidden under his layer of tough skin and blank expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And e</span>
  <em>
    <span>veryone </span>
  </em>
  <span>has a breaking point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Connor, one of the strongest people Hank knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here he is, shaking ever so slightly with pudgy cheeks, leftover tear tracks, and fingers bunched up tightly on the hem of the soft blanket that engulfes him. And that’s okay. That’s normal. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>human, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and to see Connor like that makes Hank’s heart twist with an emotion he can’t quite describe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hank?” Connor says, opening his eyes. “Are you going to read it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, sorry,” Hank says, jolting out of his train of thoughts. “Yeah. I’ll get started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Connor settles back again and lets his eyes close. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank then opens up the book and turns to the first page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, when he first woke up way too early this morning, he never thought he’d spend his day reading in a tub to his friend. But if he’s going to be real with himself, he’s not comain. The tranquil darkness, the softness of the blanket that covers him, the faint streams of light that pour through the bathroom window through the shut blinds and give him just enough light to read the words on the book, the faint sound of Connor’s thirium pump and stimulated breathing - it’s all very relaxing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank sneaks one more glance at Connor on the other end of the tub before starting the book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His LED has finally gone a bright, shining blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hank smiles to himself and begins reading, his voice soft in the calm bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)</p><p>Also, my tumblr’s beckkii - come scream with me about D:BH there!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>